Glory of the Sun
by Tarawr
Summary: Liz and Roger discuss the past.


Glory of the Sun

"_Too late I realized what she did not – that the power was a living part of her… but I was cold, starving dark, and she was like the glory of the sun to me." – Roger; 'Almost Colossus'_

All that was visible to him was her face tightening with pain, her lips drawn back in a grimace, eyes squinting in pain and fear.

He couldn't stop himself from drawing her power inwards even if he wanted to. The power he was feeling suddenly after all these years was far too great for his body to resist… he wanted more.

Needed more.

It was like finding water amid a desert, and he glutted upon it like a rabid beast.

"Miss Sherman!" He heard someone shout.

"Liz, _stop_! Sid, stay away from-"

"NYA!"

There was a loud hissing sound, followed by the strong smell of burnt flesh and blood. All of the new sensations that he was feeling after so many years of being a lifeless husk were all very distant to him. All he could focus on was the power that this girl was providing… the delicious, intoxicating power…

"LIZ!" One of the men shouted.

"…can't…" The one called Liz managed to whisper.

"Come on, Liz!" He shouted. "Get out of there! Don't make me-"

"…can't…" She whispered again. "… do it…"

Suddenly, there was a noise that was too loud for him to ignore. It caused his ears to ring. The power that was pouring into him now ceased to a trickle, and then completely ended. All he could feel now was rage.

The power – where had it gone? He craved more, but he felt nothing.

Whatever the man had done to the woman, she was now bleeding from a small, circular wound in her arm.

"NO!" He thundered. His anger was so great that he was vaguely aware that he had even spoke.

He leapt forth and grabbed the man at the top of his head. He grabbed with all of his might and pushed backwards, forcing his neck to make a sickening snap. He lifted his limp body up over his head and caused his spine to make sickening sounds of its own.

He threw the man to the ground, tore a hole through the castle wall with nothing but his bare fists, and ran straight ahead over the plains of Romania, leaving behind two very frightened strangers to stare helplessly at their dead companion.

All was a blur, his mind filled with white-hot anger and maddening confusion…

Roger awoke with a gasp. He had a little bit of sweat trickling from his forehead, and what may have been tears coming down his cheeks.

He looked around the dark room. He couldn't really see much, but he knew where he was, and most importantly, who he was.

He was in Fairfield, Connecticut. He was a field agent for the BPRD, and he had several friends here. He had a home and a life.

But he also had this reoccurring dream. More of a nightmare, really. It could barely even be considered either. All of it had happened; it was forever burned into Roger's memory. He had to deal with it everyday.

It was even worse than that. Roger also had to deal with baring the thought of what Liz went through, and still continues to go through to this day, all due to his greed.

She was slowly dying when he gave her power back. If he had arrived even a moment later…

He heard his bedroom door creak open. Dim light leaked into his room, and a silhouette stood in the doorway for a moment, almost as if listening. He snapped his eyes shut before any light could fall on his face.

"Roger…?" Came a soft whisper. "Roger… you awake?"

He didn't stir. For whatever reason, he didn't want to be "awake" just yet.

The figure approached and sat on his bedside. She placed a smooth, slender hand on his shoulder and lightly shook him.

"Time to wake up…"

He gave a yawn and looked at the poorly lit body next to him. It was Liz, waking him up as she sometimes did. Roger got the big, dumb smile that he normally got when Liz was around.

"Hello, Elizabeth."

The corner of her mouth jerked slightly. She hated being called by her full name, even on paperwork, but she always let it slide when Roger said it.

"Time to get up. Got lots to do." Liz sounded less than thrilled, and still quite tired. She gave his shoulder a pat and stood up. Before she could walk out of the door, he spoke.

"Do we have to go right now?" Roger asked quietly.

Liz turned around, standing in the doorway and obviously caught off guard by his question. "Well… not really. We're not in a huge hurry… why?"

Roger was quiet for a moment. He slid to the very edge of his bed, keeping his pupiless yellow eyes on her silhouette in the doorway.

"I just needed to talk with you… for a few minutes…" He sounded almost like a small child.

Liz got a little nervous, but she closed his bedroom door and stepped closer to him nevertheless. Roger was never really the type to sit someone down to have a serious talk with.

"Okay… what is it?"

Roger reached over and turned on his bedside lamp. He squinted a little at the sudden light, but he eventually adjusted. He focused his attention back on Liz and asked the question that had been burning in his mind for so long.

"Do you blame me?"

She looked around for a moment, caught off guard once more. "Blame you? For what?"

"When you first found me. What I did."

Liz looked at him with what looked like pity. "Oh, Roger… no. I don't blame you. You didn't do that on purpose. It wasn't your fault – any of it."

Roger seemed to mull that over as he grew silent, staring at his folded hands almost as if in a trance. Liz began feeling a little uncomfortable. Whenever she thought back on how powerless she was at that moment in time, she felt ill.

What was even worse for her was that when Roger sucked up her power, he could see inside her head. He had absorbed all of her memories, emotions, secrets… all of her thoughts had been sucked up into him…

Liz shuddered and fiddled with the bottom of her jacket, trying to chase the thoughts away.

She was grateful that Roger wasn't the type of person to hold that over her head. She felt uncomfortable even going to a psychiatrist and letting them scratch the surface of her psyche. But Roger had gone all the way to the very core of her brain. Her memories were his memories. Quite honestly, it made her skin crawl.

"Uh… why did you want to know?" Liz asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder in an attempt to seem casual and unaffected by the conversation.

Roger snapped his head up, his trance wearing off. He wiped his face with a large hand. "Just… had a dream."

He sounded and looked troubled in a way that Liz didn't prod. She didn't need to ask. She had dreams as well.

After a few moments of silence, Roger looked up at her from his bed.

"You were almost dead. You could have died…"

"Yes," Liz agreed coldly. "But I didn't. That's the important part, I guess."

Roger looked like he had been slapped. "You guess?"

She crossed her arms and took a step back. "Don't act stupid… just sift through my memories. You know what I'm talking about."

Roger looked hurt, and for some reason it made Liz's heart break. She maintained the cold countenance and stared daggers at the floor.

"I…" Roger softly spoke. "I try not to look at your memories."

"Well, I'm giving you permission." She practically hissed. "Go on. Look. See what was going through my mind. See what-"

"I already know!" Roger quietly forced out. "I already know what was going through your mind, and it hurts me every time it crosses mine."

Liz was surprised to see how passionate Roger was about this. He seemed largely unaffected by the whole thing up until now. Then again, she had also put on a pretty good front about it for all this time, acting like it was no big deal, when really it caused an onslaught of sickening emotions.

Liz looked at him and his expression softened.

"Do you still feel that way?" Roger gently asked.

She looked at the several trinkets and knickknacks scattered around his room, at all the little things he had strung up by twine on the pipes of his ceiling – everything from bells, keys or extension cords. He had several books messily stacked on shelves, posters and some pictures taped to the walls.

She spotted one Polaroid of her and Roger that had been taken months ago. In the picture, he had a broad smile and his arms wrapped securely around her from behind, while she looked like a dork, laughing with her eyes closed tightly and her nose wrinkled.

Liz remembered the day that it was taken, and remembered very clearly Roger's reaction to it.

_Liz grabbed the picture as it slid out from the camera and shook it. She scowled as it developed._

"_Oh, god, Roger… I look like a complete dweeb."_

_Just before she crumbled the picture, Roger snagged it from her hands and observed it. She remembered the warm look that came over his face._

"_I like it." He had said with the most affectionate voice she had ever heard._

She sighed as her eyes fell from the picture and back to the floor. "Sometimes."

Roger wordlessly stood up and slowly walked over to her. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Elizabeth…" He whispered. "Please don't think that way."

She looked up at him, not realizing that her eyes were wet until then. She hoped that it wasn't noticeable in the dim lighting. She despised crying, especially in front of people.

"Why would it matter to you?" She questioned, instantly feeling like a bitch and wishing that she could take that back.

"Because, you're my friend," Roger said firmly, barely skipping a beat.

Liz gradually pulled away and went to rest on his bed. Roger came to sit next to her after a moment of silence.

"I know how you feel." Roger said with finality.

Normally, this statement would piss Liz off. If any other person had said it, she would either storm off or go into a blind rage of curses. But the fact was that Roger _did_ know how Liz felt. He had her memories, thoughts, and if he chose to call up the memories, it was as if he had lived them himself.

She tightened her hands into fists and slouched. Roger couldn't see her face from behind her long veil of hair, but he heard a small noise come from her throat, like a short sudden intake of air that she had been trying to fight off.

He carefully wrapped his arms around her, but she tried to shake him off stubbornly. Through viewing her memories previously, he knew that Elizabeth's "tough" demeanor was nothing more than a defense mechanism. In reality, she craved for human contact, for someone to get close to her. Armed with this knowledge, he kept his hold on her, although she still attempted to wriggle free.

"Dammit, Roger – let me go!" She growled, her voice wavering.

"No."

She continued her struggling, but Roger didn't show any sign of budging. Eventually, her movements became more sluggish until she stopped moving. She quietly sobbed and Roger guided her head into his shoulder. He stroked the back of her head slowly and just let her cry.

"It's okay, Elizabeth." He cooed. "It's okay."

He let her cry in silence, allowed her to release her frustrations and pain.

Roger kept her securely wrapped in his arms, knowing exactly what she needed to hear and feel, and how badly she needed it.

He knew he couldn't keep this beautiful human from feeling pain, but he could definitely do everything in his power to help her push through the hurt.


End file.
